


About the importance of friends, foes, family (and alcohol)

by Kadira



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadira/pseuds/Kadira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'How's my favorite dirty cop doing today?'</i> - Fusco acts weird, Reese confronts him. Fusco is not happy, but Reese is nothing if not persistent - a character study on Reese's and Fusco's difficult relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About the importance of friends, foes, family (and alcohol)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. A huge thank-you to radioshack84 for a marvelous beta! All remaining mistakes are my own fault  
> 2\. Reese is my favorite character in POI, but I have major issues with the way he treats Fusco. Those who follow me on tumblr had the doubtful pleasure of reading all about it – repeatedly. Thanks for indulging me by reading and discussing! :-) This story is the result of said issues and pondering. Set at some point before '2x20 – In Extremis'.

** About the importance of friends, foes, family (and alcohol) **

Reese found Fusco in a shady bar, too far away from both his home and the precinct to just be having an after-work beer. There was more to it, as though he wanted to make sure that nobody disturbed him. Too bad for him that he worked for the wrong team. Between Carter expressing her worry and Lionel ignoring both their calls—multiple times—it was something that needed to be checked out.

John's eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the slumped form at the bar. He crossed the short distance with long strides and approached the errant detective, who took no notice of him. Reese frowned. Not good. Fusco should pay a whole lot more attention to his surroundings in his position. After all, what if it hadn't been John, but somebody whose plans were far less benevolent?

"Hello, Lionel! How's my favorite dirty cop doing today?" he whispered into Fusco's ear, certain that this would get his attention.

Fusco tensed for a moment, then turned around. "Very funny, Wonderboy," he said, voice dark, unwelcoming, with a hint of a drunken slur. He looked startled and rather out of his depth. He also seemed _very_ unhappy to see John. Not that it mattered, because John was here now and he had no plans to go anywhere else, not before he knew what was going on.

"Why, I'm happy to see you as well," John said, smiling brightly at the other man and taking the seat beside him. "So, what happened, Lionel? Another melodramatic moment? I tried to call you several times during the last few days, but you never picked up. I was getting worried," he chided, voice soft.

Fusco snorted and emptied the content of his glass in one go. "Another," he told the barkeeper.

"Then I followed your phone's GPS signal and ended up in your home. You must have forgotten to take it with you. I found it in the trash, but that was most likely just an accident, of course," John said, still smiling, pushing the phone in Lionel's direction.

The other man didn't take it. "What do you want? Another case? Because if yes, you probably should go to Carter. I'm a little busy right now."

"I can see that," John said, watching the detective quickly emptying yet another glass of something that was most certainly not water, despite the color.

"Feel free to leave me alone any time."

That was new. Of course, John had no intention of doing anything of the sort, certainly not before he got his answers. "Did you get any news from HR lately, Lionel?"

A shot in the blue, but if Fusco refused to tell him, John had other ways.

"What?"

"Our friends from HR – did you hear anything from them lately?"

"Nothing more than usual. Don't tell me you came down here just to ask that?" A thick layer of wariness added itself to the still-existent displeasure of having John there at all.

"I told you, I was worried when you didn't pick up your phone," John said, voice calm.

"Yeah, right," Fusco said and uttered a short, rough laugh.

John's eyes narrowed slightly, but he ignored the statement for the time being. "So, if not HR, what else is going on?"

"Can't I just have a drink? Does there have to be something going on?" Fusco asked, sounding annoyed. He came to his feet, steps and eyes not quite as sure and focused as usual. "Look," he said, straightening up. "You had something against me having a personal life, so I stopped having one. I'm mostly at your beck and call. Never mind that, thanks to you, I don't even have a life anymore, because you destroyed any chance I could ever have to regain mine when you wrecked that damn phone!"

John listened to the outburst, tried not to show any emotion on his face.

"I went into the lion's den and so far I'm still alive, despite all the work I'm doing for you on the side that tends to clash with my HR work," Fusco continued, "so I think after everything I've done for you – risking my life, saving yours, your friend's, and so on – I do still have the right to get drunk now and then, if you'll excuse me!" He sat down again, motioning for the barkeeper at the other side of the bar to bring him another drink.

"Not until you tell me your real reason for being here," John pressed.

"Don't pretend to care. It doesn't work," he said, still angry.

John waited for Fusco to finish the next glass. The right course of action would probably have been to make him stop drinking, but if being drunk was what was needed to get Fusco to talk, John was all for it.

"You are my asset, Lionel."

"Right, your asset," the other man said, darkly, then stumbled to his feet again. "Don't you dare follow me in there!" he growled under his breath as he went for the toilet.

"I wouldn't dream of it," John said, to no one in particular, because Fusco was already gone. "Finch? Did you hear?"

"Of course."

"What do you think?"

"It's safe to say that, even for him, Detective Fusco is acting peculiar," Harold said, thoughtfully. "It seems Carter was on to something."

John nodded. "Anything you could dig up? He's not exactly on the tale-telling side today..."

In fact, he realized as he turned around and saw Fusco's coat billowing behind him through the closing door of the bar, he didn't seem to be much in the mood for anything, least of all John's company.

"Our good detective just gave me the slip," John said, sounding nonplussed. This was unexpected. Even at the worst times of their acquaintance, Fusco might have been grumpy or ignored his calls occasionally, but he had never done something like this, once the killing attempts and blackmailing business had been settled to John's satisfaction, that was. "Let me know if you find something, Finch," he said, then grabbed Lionel's phone and turned around. He would find him, and then…

"Hey." He stopped in his tracks as the barkeeper called after him and turned around slowly. "Your friend forgot to pay his tab..."

… and then he would maybe just kill him after all, John decided as he got out his wallet.

***

Lionel's peace didn't last long, certainly not as long as he had hoped. Crossing the street once wouldn’t throw off the worst detective, much less someone like Reese, which only proved his level of drunkenness. Fortunately, the peace also didn't last long enough for his mind to get a chance to clear again. It would have been a shame to waste all that alcohol he'd already consumed. At least he had made it into the next bar before John caught up with him.

The grim location was the kind establishment where nobody would ever speak to anyone else, probably not even if spoken to first. It suited Lionel perfectly fine. He was not really in the mood to interact. This time he ignored the bar (barstools could be so tricky once you reached a certain level of drunkenness) and stumbled toward the table that stood furthest away from the door, in a dark corner.

By the time Reese found him, Lionel was nursing another drink – this time he had taken the entire bottle, which made things easier - and was just starting to settle down again, to fall back into the peaceful lethargy the other man had so rudely interrupted earlier, when he sensed another presence in the bar. Reese's eyes seemed to burn through the half-darkness, and Lionel had to force himself not to cringe when the gaze landed on him.

Maybe just leaving hadn't been such a good idea after all. It seemed rather long ago that Reese had last been this angry with him. Not that Lionel particularly cared, apart from the fact that Reese, among others, held his life in his hands. Whatever little was left of it anyway. He observed the other man crossing the room as his mind wandered.

>   
> _"I can't have you coming clean, Lionel. I need you inside HR. Get close to them."_  
>  \--  
>  _"I'm sorry, but you are more useful inside."_  
> 

John's actions had condemned Lionel forever to a life in the shadows, at least until HR was dealt with. A rather fitting punishment for what he had done, Lionel knew. Too bad Simmons had no desire to let HR die, or to see Lionel survive. In fact, the only question left was just how he was still alive to start with.

Lionel had no doubt that the bane of his existence would try to save him - as long as nobody else was in danger at the same time. A corrupt detective was doubtlessly rather low on his save-list when there were other lives at stake. Not that he could really blame him for that.

And John had saved his life already. Not only his life. He had given Lionel the chance to do something good for a change, which the detective had come to appreciate once he had gotten over his resentment. But his ex-wife was right. His actions, his job, was a danger to everyone, especially those close to him. Lionel was painfully aware of that. And it had only gotten more difficult and dangerous since he got involved with the world's new, self-appointed guardian angels.

He took another gulp. The sip went down too easily with not nearly enough effect, as Reese finally arrived at his table.

John's stunning blue eyes glared murderously at him, making Lionel realize that maybe he was well on his way to getting himself killed tonight after all. He shrugged inwardly. At least it would be much faster (and probably more painless) than anything Simmons had planned for him.

Lionel grinned, lifted his glass, cheered, then emptied it in one go. He enjoyed the warmth of the whiskey running down his throat, heating his blood, then settling down in his stomach with a pleasant after-burn. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feeling.

"Just to make one thing clear, Lionel," John said, as he sat down across from the detective. His voice was soft and dangerous, leaving no doubt about his current mood. "If you run off again and leave me with your tab, I will shoot you in your foot."

"Not the knee, huh?"

Reese obviously didn't deem that statement worthy of a reply and only glared. Lionel shrugged and slumped back. "Or you could just go." He sighed when John still didn't react. So no getting rid of him after all. Then again, why should he? The other man was the bane of his existence after all. He laughed.

"Feel like sharing the joke?" John asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Lionel didn't know anyone else who could raise his eyebrow quite like that. "Do you know just how much I hated you in the beginning? For forcing me to help you?"

John's gaze was unsettlingly bright, intense, observing, but he didn't say anything. Not that there was much to say. The second time Lionel had set him up had probably clued Reese in to his true feelings. Lionel carefully refilled his glass. Aiming was getting a bit more difficult, but he still managed it without spilling too much. "But I like it. Working with you, Carter, Finch, helping people... all that," Lionel said, shrugging.

All that and more, but he would never admit that, certainly not aloud. Somewhere along the road, he not only had come to care about the work and the people they helped, but also about the other man. He admired him. Liked him, even.

Lionel _liked_ working with John. It was as simple as that. And as pathetic as it was, he had come to want his approval. To himself, he could even admit that he was envious of the ease with which Carter interacted with the two of them. While Lionel had had no choice in the beginning but to work for them, they had _wanted_ Carter on board, had pretty much wooed her. Now that she was there, there was mutual respect, maybe even a friendship, which left Lionel on the sideline. Not that he deserved much else, seeing his past and how he had ended up with them, but that didn't stop a part of him from wanting it.

"And you are doing good work," John said.

Lionel's smile felt strained. "Yeah, be that as it may, Simmons knows that I'm working for you," he finally said. Not that telling now would change anything. It was much too late for that already. "He's blackmailing me with that and Davidson's death."

***

"That is not everything, Mr. Reese," Harold informed John over his earpiece mere seconds later. "I went through his files and recent activities and his ex-wife is trying to revoke his visitation rights for their son."

"Why?" John asked, both of them.

"Going with the correspondence between her and her lawyer, she reasons that our good detective is unreliable and his job is too dangerous, a danger that could extend to his son if he is with him."

"Why what?" Lionel asked, obviously too drunk to even consider that Harold could be listening in.

John absorbed the news. It explained a lot, especially Fusco's current activities. He had seen people crack under less pressure.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't I tell you?" Fusco asked, sounding dazed. "I tried. But whenever I tried to call you, you were fighting the good fight. Or something else. Not that it is your problem. I just wanted to let you know. It's nothing that I can't handle," Fusco ended with the kind of grim determination people usually displayed when they knew they had nothing left to lose anymore, people for whom death had become a constant companion, a certainty, which they could only prolong, but never escape.

John knew the feeling because he had been there, had fought the same fight before resignation had finally won over after Tétouan and Jessica. Then Harold had entered his life. John listened to Finch's relentless typing in his ear, taking comfort in the sound, the nearly constant closeness between them. Resignation was the next step, but Lionel wasn't there yet. So far he was still willing to fight, if only to prolong the inevitable for a bit longer.

"The hearing will be next Monday," Harold provided.

"Is that all?" John asked as Lionel, who, much more unsteady than before, refilled his glass.

"Isn't that enough?" Fusco asked, voice slurred, his gaze closing off, making it obvious that he had no intention to tell John anything else.

"Lionel," John said after a moment, then waited until the detective's gaze had focused on him again. "I know I didn't leave you a choice with HR and I'm sorry for that. But we needed you on the inside. We still do. You are doing good work. But I promise I will get you out of it once we are ready."

"Even you can't save everybody, Wonderboy," Lionel answered with a grim, drunken smile as he put John's most vivid nightmares into words.

"Maybe not. But I can try," he replied, finding himself to be much more honest with Fusco than he could be with Carter. With Fusco, there was no need to sugarcoat things. He appreciated that.

***

When Fusco woke up, he found himself in his bed, still clothed apart from his shoes and coat. He had no recollection of how he'd gotten there, and a very fuzzy one (at best) of the night before, of the events that had resulted in the killer headache he was currently suffering.

He let out a heartfelt groan when his phone rang, the sound echoing painfully in his head. For a moment, he didn't move, hoping against hope that the disruption would just go away if he would only stay in bed, ignoring it.

It didn't, of course.

He glared in the direction of the offending object...on the top of his bookshelf?! How did it end up there? When the ringing just refused to stop, and taking the call started to sound like so much less of a painful hassle than tolerating the shrill sound any longer, he turned around and heaved himself into a sitting position.

Getting up was a special kind of punishment. Lionel's head swam and hurt and he felt just spectacularly dreadful all around. Just what did he _do_ last night? He had been at a bar, having a drink. More than just one. Rather quite a few too many from the feel of it, Lionel decided as he finally got to the shelf, picked up the phone and accepted the call.

"Yes," he said, voice hoarse.

"How's your head, Lionel?" The soft, mocking voice triggered Lionel's memory faster than he could wish for: the bar, Reese refusing to leave him alone and there not being enough to drink in the world to block out Wonderboy, or even the news he had gotten earlier.

And that was exactly the reason why he never got drunk, certainly not anywhere where people could stumble over him, but it had been too much. He had needed the alcohol, had just wanted to forget, at least temporarily. How could he have known that he would get his very own stalker just that night?

"What do you want?" Lionel's voice was short, to the point of snapping when he finally broke the awkward silence, but he had already given the other man more than enough ammunition to laugh about last night. There was really no reason to add anything else to that particular humiliation.

"You know, if you keep doing this, you should maybe get a flat in the city. Much easier and faster to get you home then."

Lionel felt himself paling. Of course. The other man probably wasn't the type who would let helpless drunks fend for themselves, not even when they were dirty cops. Not that he had any intention to react to that. What was he supposed to say anyway? 'Thank you for being a pain in the ass and for babysitting me against my will'? Maybe not quite that way, maybe a brief 'thank you' would be enough, but things were hardly normal between them and Lionel would rather bite off his tongue than say so here and now. Reese probably didn't expect it anyway.

He shook his head, regretted the movement right away, and winced. "What do you have?" was all he asked in the end.

"I need you to check up on someone for me. I'm tied up elsewhere."

For a moment Fusco thought about protesting, mostly because he could and because it had become one of their habits, but after last night and how he felt now, nodding and agreeing seemed so much easier. "Where?" he eventually asked, resigned.

***

"You are sure about that, Maria?" he asked his ex-wife.

The situation was surreal, at best. Maria had never visited him at work, not even when they were still happily married, so having her here now, sitting in front of his desk after everything that had happened – and hadn't happened – between them was a strange experience.

"I never say something when I'm not sure," she confirmed, and he could almost believe that he saw the hint of that smile on her face, the one with which he had fallen in love forever ago. She seemed almost the same as back then, radiant, beautiful. Lionel swallowed, forced himself to ignore the pang of pain that accompanied those thoughts, locked it away again, deep down, where nobody would be able to reach it, least of all him.

"If you don't mind the question," he said curiously, carefully, so as not to accidentally make her reconsider, "what changed your mind?"

"Who."

"Who?"

"You should thank your friend, Lionel," she said, voice melodic with just that hint of something else that had intrigued him so back then, had made him ask her out on their first date.

"My friend?" Lionel didn't have friends, apart from maybe Carter, at least as long as she didn't know the whole truth about him. Or maybe it was more correct to describe them as friendly colleagues? But however Lionel put it, Carter was definitely the closest to a friend he had, maybe his first real friend since Stills. And he knew how well that had turned out.

Friends were not advisable in his line of work. Their lives would end prematurely, especially if they were close to him. Besides, Carter had no idea what had happened in his life, and Lionel wouldn't want to have it any other way. This was _his_ life, his last bit of privacy, no matter how messed up it was, the bit that nobody could take away from him, not HR and not Wonderboy.

"Yeah," Maria said. "It's what he said. I didn't get his last name. John Something. Big guy, very charming, soft voice, suit..." Lionel could only look at her, shocked. "You don't know him?" his ex-wife asked, obviously alarmed by his reaction.

"I do," Lionel hastily explained, nodding, still reeling from the surprise. "I just... he is a very busy guy, so I'm surprised he found the time to visit you. What exactly did he say?"

"He told me that you are doing good things and that you would rather die than endanger Lee's life," she explained. "Not that I ever believed that you would ever willingly endanger him, Lionel, but you have changed. You are constantly changing," she said and looked at him with the same helplessness she had displayed the day when she had thrown him out. "Sometimes I think it's for the better, but then there's something so dark about you, it scares me. It makes me worried. For you and for those around you. But I can't protect you. I can only protect Lee."

He smiled faintly. "My friend's right. No matter what you believe about me, I would rather die than let anything happen to my son."

"I know. John was very insistent about that." She stopped for a moment, thoughtful, then continued, "he seemed to care a great deal about you. You should be grateful that you have such friends," she said, then smiled as she got up. "I for one am very glad that you are not alone, Lionel."

Lionel felt like he was operating on autopilot when he stood up and took her hand in his, shaking it as if they were perfect strangers. "Thank you," he said then, voice rough, but heartfelt.

She nodded, "You can pick him up at the usual time for your weekend. He'll be happy to have you there for his game Saturday," she said, then finally turned around and left.

"Everything all right, Fusco?" He still felt dazed when he looked at Carter who in return eyed him cautiously. "You look like a deer caught in the headlights."

It was just how he felt. Not that he said so. Instead, he just smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, sat down again, and said: "I'm fine, thank you."

Friends, huh? Maybe he had been wrong. But how had Reese known? Lionel had told him a lot in the end, but he didn't remember that his family problems had been one of those topics. It probably shouldn't surprise him, though. Lionel looked at Lee's picture on his desk, then smiled.

For a moment, he played absently with his phone, indecisive, then typed in a simple "Thank you" and sent it off.

Maybe he wasn't all that bad off after all.

**–... **–... **–******


End file.
